


Desk Job

by purajobot935



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Desk Sex, Fluff, Groping, Kissing, M/M, Male Slash, No Sex, Office, Smut, Teasing, Touching, Workplace, overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purajobot935/pseuds/purajobot935
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl wants to work, Jazz wants attention. Like all healthy couples, they compromise. I like to pretend this has a real plot...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desk Job

Desk Job

One more report, Prowl told himself. One more report and he would call it a night and head to bed. Sighing, he reached for the closest one on his desk and then settled back in his chair to read it. The minutes ticked by as Prowl’s optics scanned the words and committed important information to his memory banks, and the hour grew later. Now and then he shifted and fidgeted trying to ease the stiffness that was starting to creep into his frame, but determined to finish this last report like he told himself.

“Babe, y’sit there any longer y’butt’s gonna fuse t’the chair,” a voice from the door said.

Prowl jumped and looked up to see a grinning saboteur leaning casually against the doorframe, arms and ankles crossed and looking far too good for Prowl to look away. He had a slightly damp look to him which told Prowl that he’d just gotten out of the washracks, further confirmed by the faint scent of car detergent that wafted towards him as Jazz came further into the room.

He’d used the lemon-scented one, Prowl noted absently. Damn him, now he was never going to finish this report.

“I’ve told you before not to sneak up on people like that,” Prowl replied, trying to sound a little cross. Sure, he knew he’d go down, but by Primus he would go down fighting.

“It’s my nature,” Jazz said earnestly and helplessly.

With all the air of a kicked puppy who’d just marked his territory on an expensive Persian rug, Prowl thought, feeling a sense of hopelessness already rising in his fuel banks. He could stare down the most menacing Decepticons without flinching, but the sight of a wounded Jazz turned him into little more than what the humans liked to call mush.

“Would y’love me if I was anythin’ but what I am?” the saboteur asked.

Prowl quirked an optic at him. That had to be from one of his movies. It seemed too contrived to be something that he had come up with all on his own.

“An’ this is the part where you go: no Jazz. I love you just as you are.”

“But you’ve already said it for me, so why should it bear repeating?” Prowl asked.

Jazz all but pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I’m starting to think you love your work more than you love me.”

“That is an illogical assumption.”

“Yeah, well y’know what they say about assumin’ things, which brings us back to the subject of your aft an’ why it’s still stuck to that chair.”

“As opposed to what, Jazz?” Prowl’s face remained its usual calm self, but his voice had taken on a slightly playful edge. “Is there any other function besides being sat on that it should be performing?”

A dozen snarky responses ran through Jazz’s mind, but none of them seemed fitting enough to be considered retaliatory to Prowl’s comment, and the ones that did fit he would never say out loud. Prowl savored the moment. After all, it wasn’t every day that one was able to render the usually witty saboteur completely speechless.

His victory was short-lived however. Jazz came right up to his desk, bent over and rested his elbows on the surface, lips curled down into what he hoped was a cute pout. Prowl tried not to look at it.

“Why’re y’bein’ mean t’me?” Jazz asked in a wounded tone.

“I don’t see how asking you a question constitutes as being mean,” Prowl replied. “A question, I might add, that you failed to answer.”

“Gimme a kiss and I will,” Jazz grinned triumphantly.

Prowl couldn’t help himself. He sat up and placed a quick, chaste kiss on the bridge of Jazz’s nose, then leaned back with an innocent smirk.

“Fragger,” Jazz growled good-naturedly.

“I believe you owe me an answer, Jazz.”

The other mech shrugged. “I forgot the question.”

Eventhough Prowl refused to look directly at him lest he completely lose his will-power, he could feel Jazz’s keen gaze on his armor, willing him to meet his optics. Prowl knew that if he did, Jazz would have his way with him for the rest of the night, and Prowl didn’t feel like relinquishing control so soon.

Sometimes the tactician wondered if Jazz wore the visor to shield his optics from the outside world, or to shield the outside world from his optics.

“I believe I asked you about the function of my aft.” Prowl risked a glance and saw that Jazz wore one of his insufferable grins.

“Ah well, y’know me Prowl. I was always more a mech of action than a mech of words, so how ‘bout I just show you instead of tell you?” he offered.

That lemony scent was starting to diffuse into Prowl’s olfactory sensors, and he blamed it for his lapse of judgment when he finally met Jazz’s gaze. Jazz took it as his cue to wind the mech up a little more.

“And I’ll bet our berth would be a cozier place to demonstrate than that hard chair of yours.”

“But I like my chair.” Prowl couldn’t resist one last bit of teasing.

Jazz sighed dramatically, straightened and came around the desk, stopping right in front of him and sitting down on his lap, straddling his legs and effectively trapping him.

“NOW can I get some attention?” Jazz asked.

Prowl finally relented, placed his hands on Jazz’s thighs and leaned forward to kiss him. Jazz met him halfway, cupping his face and gently stroking his cheek ridges with his thumbs as their lips moved against each other’s in an easy rhythm. Prowl lightly stroked Jazz’s legs, teasing him, as his fingers tickled behind the saboteur’s knee joints, breathing in that lovely citrus scent.

He felt Jazz smile as they kissed, sensors registering the black fingers as they moved to trace his headlights. Prowl’s own white hands traveled further down Jazz’s legs and slid under the wheel-wells that curved gracefully around his ankles. He knew the saboteur was slightly ticklish there and sure enough, Jazz’s engine revved in response.

Not to be outdone, Jazz let his fingers drift under Prowl’s bumper, smirking in satisfaction when the tactician squirmed under him. His foot twitched as Prowl’s fingers continued to caress the inside of his wheel-well with one hand while the other slipped under his windshield.

Jazz bit back a groan as Prowl found the area his seats tucked into and started to stroke the soft, smooth leather. He dropped his head to Prowl’s shoulder and placed a kiss on his neck, his own hands feverishly searching for a similar area on Prowl so he could return the pleasure.

Prowl stiffened, his doors going rigid as Jazz’s hand wrapped around his handbrake. He could feel Jazz smirk against his metallic skin as the saboteur’s hand moved along its length, causing Prowl to shudder hard. Pleasure surged through his circuits and the air around them started to crackle with excess energies from both of them.

Just when Prowl thought he wouldn’t be able to take any more, he felt Jazz start to ease up on his ministrations.

“Y’wanna move this t’our room, babe?” he asked.

Primus help him, but Prowl didn’t think he’d be able to last that long. “You stop now and I wont touch you for a whole week!” he threatened.

Jazz smiled wickedly and got off his lap, stepping back and sitting on the edge of Prowl’s desk. “We never really did christen your office, did we?” he asked.

Prowl stood and stepped towards him, once more finding himself between Jazz’s legs. “You evil little mechanoid,” he purred. “You’ve been harboring this fantasy for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Haven't you?” Jazz asked in reply, wrapping one arm around Prowl’s back, hand moving towards the handbrake again.

He never reached it, as in the next instant he found himself pinned to surface of Prowl’s desk with a few writing utensils digging into his back. He fidgeted, trying to dislodge them as Prowl hoisted himself onto the desk and straddled him.

“Much as I hate to disappoint you, Jazz, that is not my fantasy.”

“Oh? Care to share then?”

“Not really,” Prowl replied.

He looked down at the lithe, graceful body beneath him, at the way the black and white armor curved fluidly and clung to him like a lover. Jazz was definitely a graceful, stylish and attractive mech in his own way and he was not surprised that so many were drawn to him like turboflies to fresh energon. 

Prowl gently ran his fingers over the panels of blue armor on Jazz’s hips and watched as that beautiful agile body arched slightly off the desk in response, a small moan escaping Jazz’s vocalizer.

“Ooohh… see somethin’ y’like, babe?” Jazz asked huskily.

“Oh yes, and I have it just where I want it,” Prowl answered.

Visually satisfied, Prowl lowered himself down onto Jazz’s body, one hand snaking back around him to touch the supple leather of his seats, while the other trailed down the saboteur’s thigh again and pulled his knee up so he could have better access to the mech’s wheel-well. Jazz sighed in contentment as he held Prowl’s arms and tilted his head back when he felt the Second’s mouth against his neck.

“Mmm… y’re gettin’ better at this whole takin’-charge thing,” he said as he moved his hand down Prowl’s back to rub the hinge of one of his doors.

“I needed a change,” Prowl told him.

Jazz chuckled. “You need to change more often then.”

“Jazz?” Prowl gently stroked the leather.

“Hmm?” Jazz smiled up at him, tickling between his doors and watching them twitch as he shivered slightly.

“Shut up and let me love you.”

Jazz’s smile blossomed into a full-blown grin that was quickly covered up when Prowl kissed him. he wrapped both arms around Prowl’s neck and arched his back off the desk again when the tactician’s hand gently squeezed the leather, moaning softly into their kiss as a soft blue glow started to envelope him.

The glow spread to engulf Prowl as Jazz started to squirm under him, the pleasure causing a build-up of excess energy that needed release, and soon. Prowl smirked at this other rare occurrence – Jazz reaching an overload before himself – the hand that was not busy groping Jazz seats traveling up the saboteur’s leg again to probe a highly sensitive panel behind his knee. Jazz twitched and whimpered, nearing overload with every touch of Prowl’s.

Pulling him closer, Jazz curled his other foot around the tactician’s leg that was not currently wedged between his thighs, and began rubbing the base of his doors, enticing a delicious groan from the mech on top of him. This proved to be Jazz’s own undoing as Prowl’s grip on his seats tightened, sending a final surge of energy through his systems that was enough to push him into an overload and give him the release he’d been waiting for.

Jazz’s soft, keening cry and erratic spasms of ecstasy eventually triggered Prowl’s own climax and he clutched at the mech beneath him as he rode out the waves of pleasure that coursed through his body. He finally all but slumped over Jazz as the two of them panted in the aftermath of overloading, internal fans working overtime to cool their bodies. 

Jazz gently nudged Prowl’s head up and kissed him softly. Prowl returned it, cupping his cheek, oblivious to the sound of the door opening.

“Aw frag! MY OPTICS!!!” Trailbreaker yelled. “Argh!! Okay, I did NOT need to see the two of you shagging on Prowl’s desk. Just, NO!”

Prowl immediately tried to scramble off, but Jazz had him pinned in place with an arm around his waist. Jazz himself wasn’t in the least bit embarrassed as he looked over at Trailbreaker and grinned.

“Well at least now you can put an end to all those ‘who’s on top?’ rumors,” he said.

“Yeah… right,” Trailbreaker said, trying not to look directly at the pair. “I actually had a wager riding on that.”

“Did you want something?” Prowl asked.

“Ah, nope. It can wait till morning, nothing important. Goodnight!”

Trailbreaker beat a hasty retreat as Jazz cackled cheekily. Prowl looked down at him fondly and caressed his head.

“You are evil,” he said. “Why did you do that?”

“Because if I let ya up, y’would’ve gone right back to work with whatever ‘Breaker wanted.”

“As opposed to?”

“Goin’ t’bed with me. Its late, I’m tired, an’ I need someone t’cuddle t’sleep. Namely you.”

Prowl chuckled and slid off the desk, helping Jazz up. “You’re impossible, Jazz, you know that?”

“Yup!” Jazz grinned charmingly. “Isn't that why ya love me?”

“Indeed. You can be irresistibly cute.”

“Cute?!” Jazz looked scandalized as he stood, legs still slightly shaky after Prowl’s earlier ‘assault’ on them. “Now that jus’ ain’t right.”

“Do you mean to say you’re not cute then?” Prowl let the saboteur lean against him as they headed to the door.

“No, I don’t mean t’say that, stop twistin’ m’words!” Jazz draped an arm around his waist.

“But it’s fun.” Prowl gently rubbed behind Jazz’s neck.

“Babe, we gotta work on your definition of fun.”

 

~END.


End file.
